


Warm Below The Storm

by CelesteFitzgerald



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 07:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20254324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelesteFitzgerald/pseuds/CelesteFitzgerald
Summary: Thunderstorms are frightening, Ringo thinks. But George makes it better.





	Warm Below The Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iamonly17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iamonly17/gifts).

Humming to himself from the comfort of the living room, George wrote through the night. The thunderstorm had woken him up an hour ago, and rather than trying and failing to fall back asleep, he decided to work on a new song. It was the perfect time for it—the sound of the rain covered the quiet strumming of his guitar so he wouldn’t wake the others.

Finally satisfied with the chord sequence, he jotted down a couple notes to himself as a bright flash of lightning gave his notepad some extra illumination. Now he just needed to finish up the lyrics of the verse. He tapped his pen against his chin as the next clap of thunder rolled in.

_Creak_.

That was strange, George thought as he glanced down the hall. The storm must be really strong if it was shaking their entire flat. He didn’t think much of it, however, and he continued his writing.

…Until he heard some very rapid footsteps. Apparently George wasn’t the only member of the group to be woken by the storm. The person continued to pace for a minute as George listened. Then a burst of lightning appeared, and the footsteps were replaced with another loud creak—and a thud a few seconds later when the thunder struck.

George frowned, trying to figure out what has happening back by their bedrooms. Hopefully everything was alright.

A particularly bright flash of lightning lit up the sky, and George heard the footsteps resume at a much faster pace. This time, a door opened down the hall and the footsteps grew louder and louder until—

“Ritchie?”

Ringo froze, his eyes wider than George had ever seen them. “G-George? What’re you doin’ here—”

Just then, the thunder boomed from the last lightning strike. Ringo gasped and covered his ears, stumbling forward to crouch against the side of the couch.

“Ritchie?” George said again, jumping off the couch.

Ringo looked up at him with moisture on his cheeks. “S-sorry. I tripped,” he muttered as he looked away and wiped at his eyes. “I’ll leave you alone now.” He turned and started running back toward his bedroom.

“No—wait,” George said, grabbing Ringo’s hand. “What’s wrong?”

“_Nothing_,” Ringo insisted, even though all the evidence clearly said otherwise. To prove the point, the sky lit up again, and within a second Ringo was pressed up against George, burying his face in his shirt.

Instinctively, George wrapped one arm around Ringo’s lower back and placed the other on the back of his head. “It’s alright, I’ve got you,” George said, running his fingers through Ringo’s hair.

George could feel the front of his shirt growing damp as Ringo shook against his chest. After a moment, George realized that the shaking was actually Ringo trying to speak. Eventually, George could make out the words as a constant stream of slurred apologies.

“Shh, nothing to be sorry about,” George whispered in his ear. If anything, George was the one who should be sorry for not helping him earlier. He had no idea that Ringo had such a difficult time with thunderstorms. For how long had Ringo been suffering alone in his room?

Ringo, who was still jolting with each crash of thunder, felt tense in George’s arms. Taking Ringo’s hand once more, George led him to the couch. Once they sat down, Ringo pulled his legs to his chest and looked down. George tried to wrap an arm around his shoulders, but Ringo leaned away.

“Please don’t,” Ringo sniffled. “This is already humiliating enough as it is.”

George placed a hand on Ringo’s knee. “Why is it humiliating?”

“What kind of grown man cries over a damn thunderstorm?”

“The brave kind, who’s forced to face his fear every week,” George said, but Ringo just huffed. “I mean it,” George continued as he tilted Ringo’s head toward him and gently brushed away his tears with his thumbs. “Everyone’s afraid of something, there’s no shame in that. But you don’t have to go through it all alone.”

Ringo bit his lip. “You don’t have to stay up and lose sleep for me.”

“Not losing sleep. I was already up,” George said. There was no way Ringo was going to convince him to leave his side.

A gust of wind howled outside until a loud _snap_ sounded, and George looked at the window in time to watch a branch fall from a nearby tree. Instantly, Ringo’s hands were grasping at the front of George’s shirt, and his eyes were squeezed shut tight.

“Shh,” George said, wrapping his arms around Ringo, who put up no resistance this time. “I’ve got you, we’re safe.”

“We are?”

Leaning his head down to nuzzle it against Ringo’s, George whispered in his ear, “We are.”

“Stay with me?”

As if George could possibly say no. “’Course I will.”

Ringo relaxed his grip on George’s shirt and settled more comfortably against his chest. The sounds of the storm still made him tense up, but his breathing was far less irregular than before. “George?”

They turned to look at each other, their faces close enough for George to see the bright blue of Ringo’s eyes even in the dim lighting of the room. “Hm?”

“Could we turn on the telly? I came in here hopin’ to distract myself.”

“Am I not enough of a distraction?” George teased. He couldn’t tell if the blush that appeared on Ringo’s cheeks was real or just in his imagination. “Hold on,” he added as he fumbled around the couch for the remote control.

Once he found it, George flipped through the channels until he found one showing some cartoons. They were stupid little shorts, but the light-hearted humor was the perfect counter to the storm outside—and based on the way he kept shaking with laughter, Ringo seemed to be enjoying them.

After a few more minutes, Ringo’s laughter died down, and George felt the steady rise and fall of Ringo’s chest against his own. As carefully as he could, George shifted so that they were lying down, with the thankfully-still-sleeping Ringo facing him. Ringo’s face looked so much more peaceful now, and George couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

George tilted his head forward until his lips were almost touching Ringo’s forehead—but he paused, and instead he rested their foreheads together and held Ringo’s waist tighter. The storm outside may still have been raging, but George had never felt calmer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the lovely Iamonly17 for the lovely prompt: "There is a big storm veeery big very loud. George was writing something in the living room downstairs while the others are all sleeping upstairs. Ringo runs down crying and and and.... Mmm george will say smth like 'shh you are safe here. I wont let go.'"


End file.
